Pawns
by Dani Zatara
Summary: When it comes to the Joker it's always hard to tell if you're a friend, enemy, or just a pawn in his chaotic game.
1. One

**Pawns**

Doctor Alexander Martin was up to his ears in paperwork. His desk was cluttered with several files and forms, all of which concerned the same thing; or rather, the same person. It had been a mere eight days ago since the Joker had escaped from his confines in Arkham Asylum, using nothing but a ballpoint pen. That is, of course, until he killed one of his guards and stole his gun. An escape was much easier with a gun. In fact, it had been Doctor Martin himself who had been held at gunpoint, taking orders from the Joker, as the man had wanted his strangely crafted suit back.

Shuddering at the thought, Doctor Martin turned his attention back to his paperwork. They were various statements for the police and the media, each requiring him to sign off about what had happened. Aside from the statements, there was a massive amount of insurance claims that he had to fill out, in hopes of getting some sort of compensation for all the damage the Joker had caused in his rampage out of Arkham. A tiny part of Doctor Martin was glad the madman was out of his hair, although that was only a very tiny part. Not only were many holding him responsible for letting loose terror on Gotham City, but he had lost his prize patient as well. He was not overly worried though, knowing that eventually, hopefully sooner than later, the clown would turn up on his doorstep once more, courtesy of the city's own caped crusader. Whether he was a wanted man or not, Batman and the Joker were still enemies. They still hunted each other.

A knock on the door startled Doctor Martin away from his thoughts once more. He contemplated pretending he wasn't in, just so he could actually begin to sift through the piles of work on his desk, but decided that he was feeling a little too lazy to read the fine print on all of the documents.

"Who is it?" Doctor Martin called, leaning into his black leather chair, making himself more comfortable.

"It's Carrie," came the voice of his receptionist through the oak door, "There's someone here to see you."

"I'm busy," he said, smiling to himself. He loved making Carrie's job difficult. It was one of the many perks being head of Arkham had.

"But she says it's very important," Carrie sounded flustered, "She says it's about…you know who." Doctor Martin's ears pricked up at the same time he rolled his eyes, envisioning Carrie making quotation marks around the words 'you know who'. The girl was ridiculously scared of the Joker and had even called in sick the day after he showed up at Arkham. However, all mocking of his receptionist aside, Doctor Martin figured this could be his lucky day. That was,_ if _his nameless visitor wasn't just a hoax. He sincerely doubted that anyone would waste their time coming to a filthy asylum just to play a practical joke. That's why phones were invented.

"Okay," Doctor Martin sighed, folding his hands on his lap in an attempt to look professional, "Send her in." The door creaked open, sunlight creeping into Doctor Martin's admittedly dark office. The previous head of Arkham, Jonathan Crane, had removed all the windows from his office and lived off the light of one incredibly dim light bulb. Doctor Martin hated it, but had not gotten around to fixing it just yet. Still, there was enough light to let him see his visitor and he had to exercise a great amount of self control to keep his jaw from falling open. The woman standing in front of his desk was drop dead gorgeous. Her body was curved in all the right places, making her look like some sort of supermodel. Her hair was long and blonde, rippling down her back with bangs swept over one of her bright blue eyes. She smiled at him with plump lips and perfect teeth.

"Good afternoon," Doctor Martin shook his head slightly to regain his composure, "I'm Doctor Alexander Martin, head of Arkham…"

"I know," she interrupted him, a twinge of a New York accent in her voice. Doctor Martin looked up at her curiously, taking note of the mischievous light dancing in her big eyes. It made him the tiniest bit uneasy, but the girl looked harmless enough.

"So how can I help you?" Doctor Martin asked, ever the gentleman. The girl surveyed him for a long moment before she smirked and reached into the pocket of her baggy jeans. Doctor Martin watched in horror as she pulled a gun out and pointed it straight at his heart. He opened his mouth to scream, but she beat him to the chase.

"Don't you dare," she whispered, her voice having gone from sweet and girly to threatening and violent in a matter of seconds. "If you scream, I'll blow your brains out." She moved the gun slightly upwards, level with his head, as if trying to emphasis her point.

"How'd you get that in here?" Doctor Martin whispered, his voice hoarse with fear, knowing that there were metal detectors at every entrance.

"Magic," the girl giggled, "You know, I think Doctor Crane was a much better head doctor than you."

"He was a psycho," he replied, his words laden with contempt.

"Exactly," she nodded her understanding, "But he was doing amazing things. You, on the other hand, are boring. That's why I'm here."

"You're here because I'm boring?" Doctor Martin echoed, amazed at his sense of déjà vu. Had he not been held at gunpoint a week ago? Had the Joker not called him boring as well?

"No," she rolled her eyes, "I'm here to, uh, _see_ Doctor Crane."

"Why do you need me?" Doctor Martin questioned, making the girl roll her eyes again.

"Either you're really stupid," she hissed, "Or fear is clouding your judgement. Are you afraid of dying?" She watched him carefully, with eagle eyes, as he nodded slowly. "Then," the girl continued in response to his nod, "I suggest you do exactly as I say." Doctor Martin nodded once more; fully aware that the only way he was getting out of this was to seem perfectly obedient. Each of the criminals he had ever dealt with enjoyed being in control of every situation. It was important to let the girl think she had the upper hand.

"Now," she said harshly, "You're going to bring me down to Crane's cell and you're going to open it up for me. The good doctor and I have some matters to discuss. Matters we don't want to discuss here. Understand?"

"Yes," Doctor Martin said, feeling that nodding was getting repetitive. The girl chose to smile instead of reply, prodding Doctor Martin with her gun and forcing him to stand. As he slowly rose from his chair, he carefully slipped his hand beneath his desk, pushing the button which triggered the silent alarm and sending a signal to the police station. They would arrive in minutes and lock this crazy woman up where she belonged. Speaking of which, the crazy woman did not seem to notice what Doctor Martin had done as she continued leading him at gunpoint out of his office and through the reception area, where Carrie was sitting tied to a chair. She looked terrified and Doctor Martin figured she had had a gun pressed against her head at some point today as well.

The woman seemed to know where Doctor Crane's cell was, navigating her way through the dark corridors of Arkham with precision, even though Doctor Martin had never seen her before in his entire life. They passed very few people in this wing of the hospital, but the odd passer-by received and angry glare and a death threat from the blonde woman, which kept them scampering by. Doctor Martin prayed the police would arrive soon.

As the strange pair made a sharp right, entering the hallway that housed Crane's cell, Doctor Martin tripped over his own feet, earning him a blow to the head by the female behind him.

"Come on," she hissed vehemently, "I have better things to be doing right now." Heeding her warning, Doctor Martin literally jogged the last few steps to Crane's cell. He pulled his keychain from his pocket and unlocked the latch that held the keypad. Quickly he typed in the five-digit access code that would open Crane's prison. The metal locks had just clicked out of place when the wailing of sirens was heard throughout the hall. The girl looked up at Doctor Martin with an intense degree of severity. Her mouth was an angry slash.

"You called them," she growled. And without warning she pulled the trigger, sending Doctor Martin crumpling to the ground, the walls now painted with his blood. "Bastard," she spat at the body.

Knowing that her seconds were numbered, the girl barged into Crane's cell, pulling her knapsack off her back and shuffling through it as she did, searching for something she knew to be there. The blood was boiling in her veins and she could hear the thundering of police footsteps as they pounded up the stairs.

"I beg your pardon," came a soft voice was the dark side of the cell, "But may I ask what you're doing here?"

"Questions later Crane," the girl said forcefully, tossing a large, brown piece of fabric towards the small, timid-looking man. She herself held a perfume bottle, aimed at the door. She could hear the footsteps, louder now, they were only seconds away. Crane, who had caught the fabric, looked down at it with a small smile and a slight look of happiness in his distant eyes. The girl almost pitied him. He had not been insane when he had been committed to this hellhole. Being there had turned him insane, or at least close to it. But that's why she was there. Insane minds were the easiest to shape and mould.

As the first of the officers came through the cell doors, the girl began to spray the liquid in her perfume bottle through the air. She sincerely hoped that Doctor Crane had figured out what to do with his mask, although the shrill screams of terror from the police force were reassurance enough. One by one, the officers fell, succumbing to their own irrational fears and nightmares. She herself wasn't afraid of anything, although her boss wasn't willing to take the risk and had given her the vaccine before beginning this mission. She watched as Crane laughed, taking control of the situation expertly, sending down Gotham's apparent 'best' officers, turning them into forms writhing on the floor.

And then, there was one who was not affected. He stood in the doorway, his gun rapidly moving from the beautiful blonde woman to the masked Doctor Crane, as officers at his feet tried to claw their own eyes out. The girl recognized his face immediately. Jim Gordon, Commissioner of Gotham, personal friend of Batman, no matter what the media said.

That must be why he isn't affected, the girl thought, Batman must have given him the cure. Seeing this one man with so much confidence almost destroyed her own, before she decided to take matters into her own hands; to bring up touchy subjects.

"Freeze," Gordon hollered, "Put your hands up or I'll shoot."

"I don't think so Commissioner," she said calmly, not yet reaching for the gun in her pocket, "Because if you hurt me or Doctor Crane here, someone very angry will come looking for you."

"Who do you work for?" Gordon barked, catching on quick.

"An old friend of yours," the girl whispered, "And if you ruin his plans, I can guarantee your family will not be safe in this country for the next hundred years." At the mention of his family, she noticed a pang of some emotion cross Gordon's face; a moment of distraction. And that was all she needed. With lightning quick reflexes, her gun was out and a bullet was lodged in Jim Gordon's leg. He tumbled to the ground, joining his team, as his gun skidded away from him.

"You won't die," the girl assured him, "But you won't come after us either. You'll never find us," she giggled slightly, "Not until we want to be found."

And with those parting words, she grabbed the still-masked Doctor Crane and led him down the hallway at a full speed sprint. Gordon had probably already called for backup. They headed to the parking garage, getting into the girl's black Lexus as Crane pulled his mask off, tossing it in the back seat. He stared at the girl as she started the car and gunned down the road.

"Thank you for releasing me from that awful place," he muttered.

"Don't thank me yet," she replied, "It's no free deal." Crane looked confused for a moment, before recognition dawned on his sharp features. He knew who had sent this girl for him, but he did not know who she was.

"May I ask your name?" He said, polite as ever.

"It's Harley," she smirked, "Harley Quinn."

_--x_

_Hey there everyone, thanks for reading this. I really hoped you enjoyed it. Please review to let me know what you thought, I'd really appreciate that. Thanks very much. Also, I'm just going to say that I don't own Batman, Scarecrow or any other thing from the DC Universe. I'm not that cool. Cheers!_

_/Dani_


	2. Two

**Two**

Jonathan sat quietly, staring out of the window as the black Lexus pulled into the driveway of a small, beat up house in a questionable neighbourhood, even for the Narrows. The driver, this Harley Quinn as she called herself, intimidated him quite a bit and he figured avoiding eye contact with her was in his best interest. Harley put the car in park and turned off the ignition. With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair, a look of relief sweeping her fair features. Jonathan chanced a look at her and caught her eyes. Utterly terrified and wishing he had his mask, he looked away. If she was anything like the man who had sent her, he had every reason not to look at her, just in case he was looking the wrong way, especially considering she was female and might take his glances offensively, in which case he would probably end up dead in the gutter and…

"I don't bite, you know," she laughed, interrupting Jonathan's train of oddball thoughts. Jonathan turned to face her and grinned slightly, feeling blush creep onto his cheeks as she flashed him a dazzling smile. The last few months in the asylum had done absolutely nothing for his social skills. Harley winked playfully and cast a glance at the clock on the dashboard before undoing her seatbelt.

"We're right on time," she mumbled, "Let's go."

"On time for what?" Jonathan asked, confused. He hated not being in the loop; feeling insecure over the lack of facts he was receiving.

"Dinner," Harley said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. She got out the car, Jonathan following suite, and locked the door, the car beeping twice to reinforce what she had just done.

"What are we having?" Jonathan asked as he and Harley climbed the few steps to the front door.

"Whatever it is," she smiled again, "It's better than the slop they feed you at Arkham." She knocked on the door in a very distinct pattern, three short knocks in rapid succession, followed by a short pause and then what sounded like the first part of a tune played at a baseball game. Once finished, she let herself in, Jonathan close behind her.

"Well, in that case," Jonathan smirked, "I'm starving." He looked around the house after stepping inside and instantly got a shiver running down his spine. The place was dark and dusty, looking as if it hadn't had a good cleaning in years. That would not do anything good for his allergies. The front door opened up into a long hall with rooms branching out from either side of said hall, the lights off in all of them. A dim and fluctuating glow was emanating from the room furthest from the front door. Harley motioned for Jonathan to follow her before beginning to head down the hallway, her footfalls so soft they barely made a sound. The anticipation in Jonathan's stomach grew with every step he took, his own footsteps silent due to the fact that he had not collected his shoes from the asylum.

When Jonathan entered the room, the first thing he noticed was the television was on, and his pictured was plastered on the screen. He could barely hear the newscaster though, over the cackling laughter coming from the man seated on the couch, his back to Jonathan and Harley.

"You two," the man laughed, greasy green hair flying around, "You sure know how to, uh, enter-_tain_." His last syllable was cut off by a horrible smacking noise that Jonathan was all too familiar with. His shoulders tensed and for a moment he wondered if perhaps, he was better off in Arkham. The man on the sofa rose and turned to face them, his face spread into a elongated grin, painted with a macabre red colour. Jonathan noticed that Harley didn't flinch as he did, as most people did, when they laid their eyes upon the face of the Joker.

"Well done, Har-_ley_," the Joker stepped closer to the blonde female, whose face was a mask of some unreadable emotion. He reached out, almost carefully, his hand twitching slightly as it ran down her smooth cheek.

"Thank y…" she was cut off by a swift hand colliding with her mouth. Her face betrayed no pain save for her eyes filling with tears.

"Only talk when I, uh, when I _ask_ you to," the Joker smiled at her before pressing her against the wall of the tiny living room and bringing his lips to hers. Jonathan looked away, embarrassed, as he kissed her with brute force, his hands wrapped tightly in her hair, pulling at the locks as if he were trying to cause her pain. Jonathan thought the idea was absurd until he remembered what a sadist the Joker actually was. He decided to keep his eyes locked on the floor until they had finished up. It took only a moment or so before Jonathan heard a loud thud and looked up, seeing Harley crumpled on the floor.

"_Good._ Girl," the Joker patted her head softly, the complete opposite of how he had been handling her only moments ago, "Dinner's in the fridge…run along." He watched with hunger in his eyes as Harley stood, he legs a bit shaky and left the room, presumably headed for the kitchen. When she was out of sight, having ducked into a room on the left side of the hall, the Joker rounded on Jonathan, his dark eyes dancing mischievously, the white paint around his lips smudged with the red of his lips as the result of his kissing Harley; which for some reason made Jonathan's stomach turn. For a long moment, the two just looked at each other before the Joker stepped up to Jonathan.

"Nice to see you a-gain, Crane," he smacked his lips only inches from Jonathan's face, making the man close his eyes in discomfort. "Now, _now_, now," the Joker cooed in response to Jonathan's actions, "Don't be afraid my itty-_bitty_, uh, bird-_ie_. I won't hurt you."

"Why did you break me out of there?" Jonathan asked, his voice not sounding nearly as strong as he would have liked it to.

"I've got _plans_," the Joker replied, "It's a…new thing for me, but I think it's gonna work, uh, _perfectly_."

"And you need me." Jonathan assumed out loud.

"Yepp," the Joker smacked his lips once more, spraying Jonathan with foul smelling spittle. The man had absolutely no sense of hygiene. It was disgusting. "Do you wanna hear my…_plan_?" Jonathan seriously considered the question for a moment before shaking his head. The manic look in the Joker's eyes and the mad grin on his face told Jonathan he wanted to hold off hearing about this plan for as long as possible.

"I'm hungry," Jonathan said, desperate to change the subject. The Joker looked angry for a moment before chuckling and heading back to his seat on the sofa, facing the television which was still showing images live from Arkham.

"_Har_-ley's got some food in the kitchen," he mumbled. Jonathan waited a few moments in silence before deciding the Joker was finished and leaving the room as quickly as possible. He headed to the third room to the left; the only one with a light on, and his eyes fell upon Harley, sitting alone at the table eating cold pasta. She looked horrible. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying. Jonathan cleared his throat loudly before he entered. Harley's head shot up and she quickly rubbed her eyes, and feigned a cough, as if to pretend she had been choking or something to that effect. Jonathan simply smiled and took a seat across the table from her.

"Do you want some?" Harley asked, not waiting for a reply. Instead, she got up and headed to the fridge, pulling out a container full of pasta. "I can heat it up if you want," she said.

"Cold is fine," Jonathan replied, watching as Harley scooped some into a plate for him and brought it back to the table. She sat back down, her dazzling smile on her face once more. Jonathan felt his heart pull, knowing that the smile was fake.

"You don't have to smile if you're upset," Jonathan muttered, munching on the pasta. It was actually delicious for something served cold and, no doubts, leftover.

"He likes it when I smile," Harley whispered, her eyes lingering over Jonathan's shoulder, focused on the doorway.

"He's not here," Jonathan whispered back, his eyes focused intensely on Harley, noticing how pretty she actually was. She looked back at him, plainly uncomfortable with the topic.

"Did he tell you about the…plan?" she asked, forcing the last word out of mouth, as if it were new to her vocabulary.

"No," Jonathan answered, "Do you want to tell me?"

"Can't," Harley said, "He hasn't even told me yet. All he said was we needed you. Said you became like a brother to him in Arkham…" she trailed off, her smile fading a bit.

"That's definitely not the word to use," Jonathan shook his head, remembering all the long days of mental and emotional torture he had endured at the hands of the Joker, before the moved him to maximum security.

"I'm sorry then," Harley murmured, "For dragging you into this."

"What exactly is _this_, then?"

"Not sure," Harley shrugged, "But at least we'll both have someone to find out with, right?"

**--x**

**So, please review and let me know what you think. Thanks for reading. **


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